By root or limb, the Draoidh stood steadfast in the face of corruption. Those who lacked honor, betrayed family, and profaned the natural order became Rootless… enemies of all Draoidh.
~Belenus the Sun God
Shattered Era - 13,025 years after the fall of the Draoidh.
The Draoidh lost their home during a conflict so long ago that most of their histories remained uncertain of the events that led to the current Druid Order. Many of their rituals and methods remained a secret because of that ancient conflict. The only thing the histories knew for sure was that the Draoidh lost and were nearly hunted out of existence.
The current Druid Order led outsiders to misunderstand their power and beliefs as it helped keep them hidden. Their cultivation and power did not focus on nature but on discovering Truths through the natural order of things. Forests were their chosen homes because the environment allowed them to sense that natural order with little distraction. The Draoidh were once feared because their focus put them closer to the Truths or laws of existence.
Crow streaked through the forest, his little naked butt wobbling as he dodged through the trees. His pale, chubby face was flushed red with excitement because his mama was hot on his tail. Being a three-year-old boy, he found it exciting when she chased him, which caused him to giggle endlessly.
It wasn’t the first time he took off running through the trees naked, but it was more than childish whimsy. Crow didn’t know he was sensing the Truths because he was just a child. However, he had always felt connected to everything around him when he was near the forest’s heart. Especially the one closest to the Maddox clan’s ancestral grounds.
The communion between him and the forest grew stronger as he aged. Even at three, he sensed that the forest was aiding him. No random roots or branches hindered his movement, and it was like the forest was helping him hide from his pursuer.
Usually, mama caught him immediately, but Crow was remarkable, and his mind was beyond ordinary. He recalled his mistakes every time he was caught and learned from them. It was like those moments were etched permanently in his mind so that he could recall every specific detail. It allowed him to develop strategies that would help him avoid her for longer and longer.
“You little brat!” Ciara called out in frustration, but Crow was oblivious to her growing fear. She no longer cared about the fact her son had no clothes on because her instincts were screaming at her. They were both in danger. “Crow! Come out now. Mama isn’t playing anymore. Hurry!”
Ciara tied up her long black hair, exposing her olive skin and brown, almond-shaped eyes. Her lithe body and exotic, angular face made her look fragile, but she was a warrior through and through. Cia wasn’t the type to panic, but fearing for her son’s safety increased her anxiety. Spreading her Mana Sense in every direction, she tried to find the hidden danger. Every second Crow wasn’t in her hands added to the sense of urgency that was overwhelming her.
On the entire planet of Litavis, only a dozen people could pose a threat to her. None of those people were on the northern continent of Darach. She’d opened her Topaz Shield nearly twenty years ago, which made her one of the strongest cultivators throughout the continent controlled by the Druid Order. If Conall, her husband, was present, then there was almost nothing on this continent they’d fear.
It didn’t mean the danger wasn’t real or that she could let her guard down. Father Oak protected the Keystone of the Druid Order, the only permanent portal on this continent connected to Tur Briste.
Ancient teleportation formations still existed, and if a person was strong enough, they could survive on a ship from one of the central continents. Unknown dangers always existed. Every cultivator learned early to assume that for every known threat, there were three more hidden—at least those who lived to reach her level of power learned it. The rest were dead.
Crow had found a hiding spot, and she sensed him nearby. In her mind, it was best if he stayed there until she understood what she was up against. However, she still moved to be closer to him to react faster if he was in danger.
Activating her Source lit up her Topaz Shield, which was embedded in her chest. The top of the Shield was slightly below her collarbones, while the bottom tip of its triangular shape slid down between the top of her cleavage. It was supple like flesh until activated or death.
The Shield helped purify mana into Origin energy, which flowed through her body upon activation. A lightness unburdened her steps, and she floated through the area as if she walked among clouds. Despite living on Druid lands and accepting their ideology on mana, Ciara was a Witch who viewed the mystical energy harnessed as Hex. She wasn’t even sure she could still call herself a Witch since she no longer had a coven.
Most witches were strong in the air element, which was not a primary element and was one of the few with high purity, which put it close to Origin energy. Her techniques were also of this element. Without any more hesitation, she released pushed her Shield’s power to its capacity.
Stepping onto a fallen log, she sensed an energy signature she was all too familiar with. Like a smell that triggered endless memories of the times, she’d experienced it. Instead of feeling joy, only terror and pain flooded her mind. Her olive skin went pale, and her breathing became labored.
“Gideon,” she exhaled as if expelling her life force. That one name took the light from her eyes. Turning, she saw him, a well-dressed man that had meticulously groomed himself. His silver hair cut short with extreme precision, his smooth face hid the fact he was an ageless monster, and his dark eyes glittered while he smiled.
Anyone on the receiving end of that smile might feel like it bathed them in sunlight. Unless they looked into Gideon’s eyes and saw the unconcealed malice and the looming threat of death. Unless they could not smell the blood scent that infested his aura. Any cultivator that reached the Ruby floors of Tur Briste would know who this man was, if not by sight, then by reputation.
“Cia, it’s been too long,” Gideon said, his rich baritone voice soothing.
“Has it?” Ciara asked in a dead and emotionless voice. A corpse probably could’ve said it with more emotion than her. She looked down on the other side of the fallen log and saw Crow lying on his back. Almost smiling at how pure and innocent he looked.
Those perfect green eyes with flashes of gold stared at her calmly, and his black hair, a gift from her, made his already pale face seem almost ethereal. It was those pretty green eyes, always filled with warmth, that still caused her heart to tremble. They were so much like his father’s, and the intelligence hidden within was extraordinary.
Cia knew that those flecks of gold in his eyes were from the awakening of his Druid bloodline, but she hoped he wouldn’t remember this day. Their Sage’s Mind is why Druids focused on learning and history because they had perfect memories. If her son survived today, this moment would cause Crow endless pain, and as his mother, she felt unimaginable regret.
All these thoughts rampaged through her mind, but she had long years of practice hiding everything from this Gideon. Nothing would show on her face, body, or eyes because any emotion was a weakness this evil bastard would exploit. Instead, she hardened her heart because she knew she’d have to say things that might hurt her son. Already, she grieved.
“Who’s the boy?” Gideon asked, but Ciara wasn’t surprised. The man was more powerful than her, so of course, he already noticed Crow.
Ciara’s eyes flickered downward but only briefly. “This is my nephew, Luthais’ boy. You remember him?”
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Of course, she lied. She hated this placidity because it was the façade that hid the rage in her heart. She’d lived, unable to acknowledge any emotion under this man. Her soul remained unstimulated by what she heard or said in this deathlike state. This monster wouldn’t get a rise out of her—she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Despite the man’s refined looks and nice clothes, those things couldn’t hide the monster within. He would wipe out entire sects if even the lowliest members slighted him. People feared or respected him; there wasn’t another method for dealing with him. Everyone called him the Blood Saint, but never to his face. It was a title whispered in dark corners for fear of him overhearing them.
“The incompetent fool who claimed to be a miraculous doctor? Who would dare sleep with that idiot?” Gideon sneered and didn’t bother hiding his contempt. “Are you lying to me?”
“You can see the child is a boy, and you know what I am. A Witch cannot give birth to male children.” Ciara didn’t lie. A Witch usually only had daughters. She’d discussed it with Conall many times, and the only conclusion they came to was that the Druid bloodline was more powerful than her own. “Why are you here, Gideon?
“Can’t you call me father, at least once in your life?”
“Saying a thing doesn’t make it true. In this life, you’ll only ever be Gideon or Blood Saint. What do you choose?”
Upon hearing Blood Saint, Gideon grabbed Ciara’s throat and lifted her into the air. The anger marred his previously handsome face, and his eyes turned red, filling with blood.
“Don’t! Ever. Call. Me. That,” Gideon spat out each word with enough venom to kill a dragon.
“Own it,” Cia growled. As a practitioner with an affinity toward the air element, talking with her throat constricted wasn’t a big deal. She didn’t even need to use her own mouth to speak. “Do you even know how many innocents you’ve murdered? Children? Mothers? A man like you can never be a father.”
Slapping his hand away would only enrage Gideon more, so she continued to dangle from his uplifted arm. No emotion, fear or otherwise, registered in her eyes. Gideon’s enraged features relaxed, smoothed over as if nothing had just happened. Then he smiled and clucked his tongue as if they were having a jovial conversation, and for him, it probably was. Almost reluctantly, he put her back down on the log and let go of her throat.
“Your tongue has become sharper, daughter. I hear you married Conall and didn’t even have the decency to invite me.”
“No one would willingly invite a calamity to their wedding.”
“He can’t have you. Didn’t I teach him already? No man can have what is mine.”
“I am not yours.”
“You are.” He said with a lizard-like menace, and she knew she couldn’t push his bottom line any further. “You have one chance to save that child’s life. Come with me and leave this… rustic place behind. Promise me you won’t come back here, and I won’t destroy all the nearby villages. I do not doubt that one of them belongs to the Maddox clan.”
Ciara knew her father would do just as he said. His decisiveness is how he gained his nickname and made him ruthless. Everywhere he went, a bloodbath followed. She took out a vestige—an organic object refined with her Source to store information or techniques. If the quality was good enough, it could record people, actions, and conversations. She embedded an encrypted message on it, which she and the Maddox brothers had devised. It was a way to hide a message within a message, but it wasn’t sophisticated—almost childish. It was easy to overlook because other methods left traces of mana which were quickly discovered.
Outwardly, it was a generic goodbye note. Hidden was a warning about Gideon not following her. Afterward, she picked up her son and hugged him before handing him the vestige.
“Crow, don’t lose that. Go north, remember what I taught you. Find your uncle and papa.” She tousled his hair, pointed him north, and gave a slight shove. It nearly tore her soul apart to do so, and she hoped the boy’s fate was strong enough to overcome this. The night was coming, and the boy was defenseless against the beasts in this forest.
“The boy’s name is Crow?” Gideon asked curiously.
“The crow is a symbol of destiny among the Witches—”
“I don’t care,” Gideon said, and with a twist of his wrist, the vestige flew from the boy’s hand and into his. He quickly scanned the contents and found a relatively simple message. He was confident enough in his ability to control his daughter, so he didn’t doubt the contents and tossed the vestige on the ground in front of the kid. “Let’s go.”
Crow stood there without moving and remained silent because the forest was silent. Something snapped in his mind, and the gold flecks within his irises nearly doubled and took on a faint glow. He didn’t know what was happening, but under the pressure of Gideon’s aura, his Druid bloodline was finally awakening. Details he hadn’t noticed previously were coming to mind, and most importantly, he recognized the danger. The man before him was so evil his little naked body shuddered in fear. Knowing the man would take his mama, Crow fought back the tears and rushed forward to kick the smug jerk in his shin.
Gideon laughed at the sight, but his eyes never left Ciara. Smacking the boy on the back of the head, he sent the kid tumbling to the ground. Father and daughter stared at each other.
No one paid attention to the boy that was now sniveling and hiding his face so his mama wouldn’t see the tears pouring out of his eyes. Another vestige fell on the ground next to the one his mama made.
“Boy, deliver my message, too.” Gideon grabbed his daughter’s arm before tearing a hole into the void and stepping through.
Crow sobbed for a few minutes more until the forest grew restless. It exuded a pressure on him that ended his sniveling, and when he looked up, he realized that nighttime wasn’t far off. Even though he was three, he knew beasts came out at night, and it was the most dangerous time to be in the forest.
Unsure which vestige was which, he grabbed them both and ran in the direction his mama said was north. Neither of the adults had taken much time to refine the petrified bark they used as vestiges, so they had rough edges that tore into the palms of his soft hands. Afraid of dropping them, he didn’t dare relax his grip, even as he felt blood warming his hands.
Ciara brought him out to hunt some food and had carried him most of the way, so he didn’t realize far it was to the road. Crow pumped his little legs as fast as he could, but without shoes, his feet looked worse than his palms.
Ignoring both, he sought the harmony of the forest. It was harder to do with his wounds, but he felt it again after some time. The trees, roots, and branches seemed to fade back as if they were making way for their prince. It wasn’t the forest that moved, despite how it felt, but that Crow knew every inch of the area around him and dodged the tricky part almost instinctively.
However, no matter how in tune with the natural order, it could not overcome a child’s weaker stamina. Exhaustion was settling in, and he was losing his agility. In moments when his concentration slipped, a branch might scrape his skin, a rock tore at his feet, or he tripped and tumbled to the ground. Falling hurt the most because he refused to open his hands and let go of the vestiges. Every fall caused those rough pieces of wood to dig deeper into the flesh of his palms.
Tears exposed clean lines of flesh on his dirt-encrusted face, and the bruises and scratches stood out starkly against his pale skin. By the time he stumbled onto the road that connected Oiche to the Maddox clan’s ancestral grounds, he had no more energy to move, and his naked butt plopped down on the dirt-packed road.
Aches covered his body with a blanket of pain that dulled his senses. It was only when he heard the snapping of branches behind him that he knew a beast had followed him. The blood he left behind could be followed by even the dumbest of beasts.
Crow recognized the Moss Wolf because his mother hunted many of them in the past. They were often mistaken for moss-covered rocks because of their green fur, making them dangerous forest predators. More than a few hunters lost their lives to them because they sat on or near one without realizing it.
Its yellow eyes stared at Crow, and he could swear it was smiling as its tongue lolled out of its mouth. The wolf only paused because the child before him didn’t smell of fear. As a beast, it was intelligent, but it didn’t understand humans. It wasn’t that Crow didn’t fear, but that he was too exhausted to care.
The ground vibrated under Crow’s butt, and he wearily looked toward the sound. An Elkan beast, a mount often used by Druids, bore down on him as it charged down the road that came from Oiche. Arrows flew from the back of it, taking the Moss Wolf by surprise, and a few more yelps were heard from the forest as the rest of the pack was scared off.
Once the Elkan came to a stop, the rider hopped off and approached the naked child.
“Little Crow?” An incredulous voice asked, using his Source to help nourish the boy who sat there looking defeated. The mysterious man’s Sapphire Shield glowed a cobalt blue color. The old man’s roughspun shirt covered his Shield, but it couldn’t hide the ethereal light.
“Grandpa Niall? Mama—” Crow sobbed loudly. Now that he was safe, he let go and cried his heart out. Remembering everything that happened, it felt like something was beating on his chest, trying to rip his soul out.
“Mama!” Crow wailed, and it was so heart-wrenching that even Niall felt tears stinging his eyes.
“Crow, what happened to your mom?”
Incredibly, Crow held up his two hands and pried his fingers loose from his death grip. The mangled flesh on the boy’s hands tore open, causing the older man to let out a startled gasp. Gently he pried the vestiges free and once more used his Source to help stop the bleeding, but he was not a healer. Instead, he gently cleaned the wounds and wrapped the boy’s hands with cloth bandages.
Finally, Niall scanned the two vestiges, and his face paled. Once more, his Shield lit up as he removed a shirt from storage. Wrapping it around the boy, he scooped him up and hopped onto his Elkan beast. Pushing the soul-linked mount to run at maximum speed toward their ancestral grounds. Before reaching the gates, he could hear the clamor within the normally quiet forest.